


There Will Come Soft Rains

by Razzaroo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:00:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razzaroo/pseuds/Razzaroo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the nuclear war, a radioactive cloud is carried south on the wind. The Oceanic nations are the only ones left behind in the aftermath of the war. This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but with a whimper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Will Come Soft Rains

“How’re you feelin’, li’l prince?”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the phone and Australia bites his lip. There should be a sigh and an exasperated request for him to _please stop using that nickname, Australia, I’m not a child any more._

“ _Fine.”_

Australia knows he probably shouldn’t ask his next question but he does anyway, “You scared?”

“ _…No. Not yet.”_

“That’s my boy.”

He picks up a pen and starts doodling on the notebook he keeps by the phone. He wishes that he had his brother here, at his side, so the three of them can all be together when _it_ happens. But he knows he can’t have that because Hutt River refuses to leave his royal family and his farmland.

Australia made sure Hutt River got some of those little pills, though, so it’s easier for his brother when the end comes.

_“Are **you** scared?”_

Australia smirked, “More than I’ve ever been in my entire life.

* * *

New Zealand’s making his dinner when the phone rings. He turns down the heat on the stove and goes out into the hall to take the call. He knows exactly who it is; only one person ever calls him these days.

There’s only one person _left_ to call him these days.

“You all right, bro?”

“ _Fine.”_ Australia clears his throat on the other end of the phone, _“Yourself?”_

New Zealand licks the sauce off of his wooden spoon, “Copin’, you know?”

“ _Mm.”_

“So what’s your reason for ringing this time? Annoyed at what the TV magazine says about tonight’s episode of _Home and Away_?”

Australia snorts, “ _Christ, mate, I’m not that bad. It’s just…I talked to Hutt again this arvo.”_

“Oh, right.” New Zealand sets his spoon down and shifts from foot to foot, “How’s he doin’?”

“ _He’s all right, considerin’ everything.”_  Australia hesitates, “ _I just wish I had him here, that’s all.”_

“Course you do.” New Zealand nods, “He’s your brother. You want your family with you; it makes sense.”

There’s a long moment of silence and New Zealand wonders if Australia’s even still there or if he’s gone off elsewhere.

“ _So why aren’t you here?”_ Australia says eventually.

New Zealand bites his lip and looks back into his kitchen. He hated it when Australia first asked him that question and he still hates it now.

“I can’t,” he says quietly, “You know that.”

“ _Yeah, I know.”_

“Look, bro, I gotta go now; dinner’s callin’. But I’ll ring you back later, OK?”

“ _Sure, OK. And Kiwi?”_

“Yeah?”

“ _You know you’re one of my best mates, right?”_

New Zealand smiles, “Go watch your soap opera, you sentimental old man.”

* * *

A month later and the cloud has reached Darwin. Australia’s hand shakes as he holds the phone. He can feel it on the edge of his mind, the fear and pain of his citizens. His radio was still playing in the background, reporting the first casualties of the cloud.

_“You all right?”_ Hutt River’s voice crackling down the line shakes him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m fine li’l prince,” he replies, sitting on his free hand to try and stop his shivering, “Just a little nervy, y’know?”

“ _Just a little?”_

“Yeah.”  He sniffs, “Don’t you go worryin’ over me, li’l prince. It’s not your job.”

Hutt River huffs, “ _I’ll worry over you if I need to.”_

“And you don’t need to.”

“ _That’s not up to you.”_

Australia sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He hates the idea that his little brother might be worrying about him when he should be thinking about himself, about enjoying these last few months before the cloud reaches him.

“Li’l prince, think about yourself,” he says, “I’ve got a lot of life in me yet.”

He hears Hutt River sigh again and he wishes he could bring his brother here, so Hutt River won’t be alone.

“Let me do the worryin’,” he says, “That’s my _job_. The only one you can even think of worryin’ about is Wy; that’s what older brothers do.”

_“Yeah, sure.”_ Australia likes to imagine that Hutt River smiles when he says that, “ _I’ll keep that in mind.”_

* * *

New Zealand’s startled awake by the doorbell ringing. He’s slumped over his desk, his neck stiff and sore. He pops the crick out of his neck when he goes to open the door and smoothes his fringe down so he looks somewhat presentable.

He opens his front door to find the postman on his doorstep, a parcel at his feet and clipboard in hand.

“Delivery for Owen Hobson?”

“You’re in the right place.”

He signs for the parcel and waves goodbye to the postman as he leaves. The parcel was lighter than it looked and, when he shook it lightly, New Zealand knew exactly what it was. He sets it on the kitchen table and cuts through the sealing tape with a pocket knife.

A note in Australia’s rushed scrawl is at the top:  “ _For when the laptops decide to kick the bucket.”_

New Zealand smiles and slides out the leather bound book that Australia’s sent him. He flips open the front cover and his smile grows. Australia’s written another note on the first blank page of the photo album.

“ _So you don’t forget about us, mate.”_

* * *

The cloud has covered Cairns and is inching its way down to Broome. Australia tracks its progress by listening to the radio and putting little red push pins on a map, to mark the cities it’s reached. He traces down from Broome to where he has Hutt River circled and labelled on his map. He hates that Hutt River will be the first one to suffer.

At least Wy will have Australia.

A wave of nausea washes over him and he sits down on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. The nausea itself had become permanent since Darwin but there were surges of it at times. He lies on his stomach and buries his face in his pillow.

One hand reaches out and his fingers wrap around his mobile. He hasn’t spoken to Wy in a while; she never answers to his landline. He wants to ask her if she’s all right with him coming to see her soon.

When she answers, his mouth curls up into a smile, “How are you feelin’, nipper?”

_“In a block. You?”_

Australia’s smile slips away.

“I’m fine. Don’t you worry.”

* * *

New Zealand sucked his lower lip into his mouth as he looked at his map. As the radio reports the cloud’s advances, he’s been indicating where it’s already covered with red strikes.

The entire northern hemisphere is struck out, as is most of Africa. Half of South America is gone; he knows this because America managed to escape to Chile, battling his own illness in order to keep getting news to Australia and New Zealand.

Even America is struggling, though. With his population gone and radiation ravaging his land, the only thing keeping him hanging on is the clean air of South America and the medical treatment he’s given.

New Zealand runs his hand over Australia. His strikes cover most of the north of the continent, stopping just north of Brisbane.

He considers this to be the start of the countdown.

* * *

“Morning, my li’l prince,” Australia says as he pushes one of his red pins into his marker for Nain on the map, “You scared?”

He hears Hutt River’s breath hitch on the other end of the phone and his heart clenches. This shouldn’t be happening, not to them; they hadn’t done anything wrong. It was someone else’s war and now it’s killing his little brother and there’s nothing he can do.

“ _I’m terrified.”_

“Well, don’t you worry, matey,” Australia says, looking out the window to where Wy was painting his honeysuckle tree, “You’ve got those pills I sent ya and I’m not going anywhere.”

There’s a long pause which is only broken by the sound of Hutt River’s coughing as he forced down the small red pills. The pills are a small mercy, a way of escaping death from the radiation.

Eventually, Hutt River speaks again, “ _What’s it like to die?”_

Australia swallows past a lump that’s suddenly formed in his throat, “Just like fallin’ asleep. It’s not as scary as you think it is.”

Hutt River sighs deeply and he sounds tired, almost content. Australia sniffs and scrubs a hand over his face, dashing tears from his eyes.

“Hutt, my li’l prince, can I ask a favour from you?”

Hutt River takes a moment to answer, “ _Sure.”_

“When Wy g--…when she joins ya, can you both wait for me?”  Australia’s throat constricts and he has to force the rest of his words out, “So I can make sure ya both get to the other side OK?”

“ _I can do that.”_ Hutt River’s voice has turned quiet and slow and Australia can practically feel him slipping.

“Thanks, mate,” Australia says, ignoring the tears that are dripping down onto the front page of his scribbled on notebook.

Wy glances around at the window. Hutt River makes no reply; the line’s gone absolutely silent. Australia weakly smiles at his sister before turning away.

“G’night, li’l prince,” he says before hanging up the phone, “See ya on the other side.”

* * *

The cloud is close to crossing the border into New South Wales and New Zealand can feel the net closing in on Australia and himself. A tearful phone call from his usually boisterous and confident brother had made everything so much worse, so much more real.

It’d had almost made him want to swim to Australia, to calm his brother down. But the best he could do was offer a listening ear and some soothing words. He’s never been good with comforting and comforting Australia is the most alien thing he’s ever had to do in his life.

He sighs and rubs at his temples. He’s heard on the radio about a deadly car race in Melbourne and of music festivals that go on for days and nights in Auckland when they aren’t scheduled. The papers report of farmers having to move their livestock out of fields that are quickly being filled with campers as people from the cities flock to the countryside in the vain hope it will give them more time.

New Zealand feels pangs go through his chest. He wishes it was possible to defeat this cloud, this silent and invisible enemy that he can’t see.

* * *

It’s crept down into Sydney and Wy is getting sick and scared. Australia sits outside with her on the hammock, cuddling her close in the sun. They often fall asleep like that and are usually woken up by the neighbours or biting insects.

Today, however, they’re woken up by Wy vomiting into the bin Australia keeps by the hammock. She sobs and shakes when she sees the blood and Australia pulls her back onto his lap, wiping her mouth with a ragged tissue from his pocket.

“Need to go inside?” he asks, discarding the tissue and stroking her hair.

Wy nods and Australia picks her up, carrying her inside to put her to bed for a while. There’s a large bruise on her left knee where she knocked it on the table a week prior, at breakfast. It shows no signs of healing and Australia covers it up with the light blanket when he sets her on her bed.

He kisses her forehead and she picks up her sketchpad from the bedside table, flipping it open to her latest drawing.

“You gonna be all right here on your own?”

“Yeah.”

He leaves her comfortably tucked up in bed and gently shuts the door behind him when he leaves the room. His shakes, the tremors that are always there, have suddenly become so much worse.

It wouldn’t be long now. He could feel it.

* * *

For the first time in months, it’s New Zealand who calls Australia. Tasmania’s the only state that hasn’t been touched by the cloud; it’s just north of Melbourne now. He taps on the shelf by his phone, worrying; it never takes Australia this long to answer the phone.

“ _You heard then?”_ Australia doesn’t question who’s on the phone; he knows.

“Of course I did.” New Zealand pauses, “Are you going to do it?”

Australia doesn’t reply right away, coughing away from the phone, “ _Dunno yet, mate. Still got people who need me, yeah?”_

“You have permission.”

_“Yeah, I know. Nice to know I have it from you as well.”_

Australia’s tone is good-humoured, or at least as good-humoured as he can be at this time. New Zealand can’t see how he can be, though.

Then again, Australia’s not going to be left all alone. America’s transmissions from South America ( _from Argentina now_ ) have all but stopped; New Zealand only gets something about once a month, at best.

“ _Hey, New Zealand?”_ Australia’s hoarse voice calls him back to reality.

“What is it?”

“ _In case I don’t get a chance to tell you again…”_ Australia coughs again, a horrible hacking sound that makes New Zealand wince, “ _You’re my best mate. You know that, right?”_

New Zealand smiles and rubs at his suddenly stinging eyes, “Yeah, mate. I know.”

* * *

He’s driven down to the coast and the entire beach is isolated. There’s a few remnants of the visitors who used to flock here: the deserted surf club; the canteen with the security screens rolled up; picnic tables that are covered in the fine sand blown from the beach.

New Zealand sits on the bonnet of his car, leaning against the windshield and looking out at the sea. Everything is absolutely picture perfect. The sky is clear of clouds and the water is calm. He can hear a dog barking in the distance and it’s the only real sound of life he’s heard all morning.

He groans and hunches over a little, his stomach roiling. He hasn’t eaten anything in days as he hasn’t been able to keep it down. His weight is down.

His throat burns as he leans over the edge of the bonnet, coughing and hacking. Bile, murky with blood, is all that comes up and he wipes his mouth on his sleeve before spitting to try and get rid of the taste. He slumps against the bonnet for a moment, shaking.

“Come on, New Zealand,” he says through gritted teeth, “You’ve got somethin’ to do; got no time to sit around looking at the scenery, no matter how gorgeous.”

He slid off of the car and made his way to the driver’s side, collapsing into the seat. He leant back into the seat, breathing deeply through his nose. He catches his reflection in the rear view mirror and he groans; he looks absolutely awful. His hair is thinning and his face is pale and pinched.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured, “Hope I look better…after. Look like a fuckin’ zombie.”

He reaches into the back seat and grabs the bottle of brandy he’s brought with him. After a moment of hesitation, he takes the pills out of the glove compartment before twisting the cap off of the bottle.

He puts the pills on his tongue and swallows them down with a swig of brandy.

“You lot better be there to keep me company on the other side.” His voice comes out scratchy, “You owe me for leaving me here months ago.”

He adjusts his seat so it leans back slightly and closes his eyes, a smile on his face.

***

_It was a time when only the dead smiled, happy in their peace._ **_Anna Akhmatova_ **

**Author's Note:**

> \- The title is taken from a poem, written by Sara Teasdale, about nature taking back a battlefield. It hints at human extinction, which is one reason I used the title. It's also the title of a short story by Ray Bradbury, which also takes place after a nuclear war.
> 
> -I won't spoil for anyone who hasn't read On The Beach but I have tried to drop a reference in. I'm not sure how well it worked though.


End file.
